


Stranger

by Miss_Mustache



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilingual Keith (Voltron), Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), I'm not really sure what to tag, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:14:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Mustache/pseuds/Miss_Mustache
Summary: Before he could fully process what was happening, the stranger walked up to Lance with a few long strides. He gently reachedupwardsand cupped Lance's face, tenderly stroking his cheek with his thumb. As startled as he was, Lance couldn't help but lean into the touch.The boy hummed, "I'vemissedyou, love."Helaughed softly at the puzzled look on Lance's face. His eyes flickered to the piano, before raising an eyebrow playfully. "Come," he gestured towards the piano, before sliding onto the stool.WatchingLance expectantly, he patted the area next to him before Lance eventually sat down beside him.Based on a writing prompt I found on Instagram.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: You're doing research in an old library when a stranger comes running up to you. They go to give you a hug while saying, "My love." You flinch away and their expression falls. Under their breath, they say, "Fuck, wrong timeline."  
> From @writing.prompt.s on Instagram
> 
> I've gone off track from the prompt, honestly. I started listening to a dark academia playlist and I started going in a direction that I didn't think would match the "Fuck, wrong timeline." So I've changed it. I wanted it to have a more mysterious vibe. And if you've never listened to a dark academia playlist, please do. This is my first time listening to one and it's immaculate. It's unmatched. And the quiet rain noises in the background is *chef's kiss*
> 
> Link to the playlist I listened to: [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1BJ4U9cJFc&t=0s)

Lance hadn't meant to abandon Pidge and Hunk, but he had gotten bored and zoned out. He had initially come to the library for a study group with them, but they started going on about their advanced classes and he had quickly escaped off into the deeper parts of the library. Though, before starting to wander, he had given a quick text to Hunk so that they wouldn't worry about him. It was a wonder he hadn't come here before. The library sat at the heart of the city, easily holding hundreds of thousands of books. Many regarded it as being the largest library in the state. Regardless of its popularity, however, the majority of the upper floors were left abandoned, gathering dust. There was an appeal to it, though, Lance thought. Time seemed to blur in the maze of bookshelves, like a place that didn't quite belong to any time.  
  
The library itself was built as a large room, and the floors above all had a balcony circling around the centre of the bottom floor. It helped to keep everywhere brightly lit. At first, there were quite a few people on the different floors; a couple of groups of students and some people who were there for leisure. He had quickly noticed, though, that the higher he got, the scarcer the people were. Leaning against the railing of the balcony, he realised he had reached what he presumed to be the top floor of the library. Silently making his way through the aisles, he went into a darker corner of the floor. It didn't seem to have a direct route back to the balcony, unlike every other path he had gone through.  
  
The area seemed odd, like it wasn't quite supposed to be there, and yet nothing indicated that Lance wasn't allowed, so he continued onward. Tucked away around another corner stood a spiral staircase. It was sleek, gently curving around the pole in the middle. The structure was seemingly made from wood, with the railing curling around it, and it seemed as though it hadn't been touched in years. Gingerly placing a tan hand onto the railing, he glanced behind him. No one seemed to be coming. It wouldn't hurt to take a peek.  
  
Cautiously, he made his way up the staircase, pausing after each step to see if anyone was coming. It creaked under his weight, but the further he got up, the less he found himself caring. The atmosphere around him had changed entirely, seeming as if he had entered a new world. It made him feel giddy.  
  
As he reached the top of the stairs, he found a corridor. It was faintly lit by lanterns hanging on the ceiling, the flames flickering softly and emitting a warm, orange glow. Lance suppressed a wince; he hoped those weren't easily shattered. Each side of the corridor opened into aisles of bookshelves. It was a slightly odd layout, but he paid it no mind, swiftly making his way to one of the openings. With one final glance behind him, he took off.  
  
The Cuban boy had now been exploring for the past two hours. Gently running his slender fingers along the spines of the books as he made his way through, he paused to examine a book that seemed to stick out. He carefully wrapped his hands around the spine of one of the books and gently tugged it out of its place, coughing with the dust that came with it. The cover was a crimson red, with faded golden embellishments. Lance squinted at the book, trying to make out a title. None of it was legible, though, having faded away with age. Promptly giving up on the title, he delicately pried it open and looked through the pages. Blue eyes flickered around the paper before narrowing slightly. It wasn't in a language he recognised, let alone understood. With a slight sigh of disappointment, he closed it and slid it back into its place.  
  
He carried on along the pathway, taking his time to look over any book that caught his interest. Most of the bookshelves were filled, with a few empty slots. Lance hoped they hadn't been stolen. He thought it was odd that these books were here, available to the public. They seemed so old that they should be preserved, it felt as though they'd crumble under his hands if he were too rough with them. As he approached the end of the aisle, it seemed to grow brighter. It was odd, as far as he was aware, the top floors didn't have windows. His curiosity had now been piqued, his attention stolen away from the books.  
  
The boy let out a quiet gasp as he turned around the corner. A large room sat at the intersection of several aisles. The room seemed to be in the attic, judging by the way in which the ceiling peaked. It had a large window on one side, taking up nearly the entire wall. The light from it bathed the room in a warm, golden glow. It felt warm, safe even. Beneath the window sat a desk, with a stack of parchment paper and a quill. In the corner, near the desk, stood a grand piano. At the centre of the room were two plush, crimson sofas. Matching cushions sat in their corners, seemingly inviting Lance in. Between the sofas sat a dark, polished table. It had several drawers on each side, and on top of it sat a pile of books. The room had a faint smell of ash, likely due to the large brick fireplace on the wall opposite the window.  
  
Lance lingered at the side for a moment. The room seemed so peaceful, he didn't want to risk disturbing it. Still, he cautiously made his way farther inside towards the nearest sofa. Running his hand across the cushion, he lowered himself down, letting out a small groan of delight. It felt as though he was sinking into a cloud. He paused for a moment, relaxing his bones and closing his eyes. At some point, he might have dozed off, but it was hard to be sure. The sun was still shining into the room just as intensely as before when he awoke.  
  
Humming quietly, Lance glanced around the room. It was dusty, like everywhere else on the floor, but it felt different. Instead of the delicate, ancient feeling the other areas had, it felt more mystical here. With the light beaming down, the dust seemed to flutter and dance around the room. It was beautiful.  
  
Sighing contently, he leaned forwards and out of the sofa's warm embrace. His eyes flickered back to the coffee table. Gingerly, he reached a tan hand out towards the pile of books. Gently picking up the top one, he glanced over the cover. Much like the other books he had seen so far, the title was illegible. The binding seemed to be made of a firey red fabric, embroidered with golden thread. It was severely worn down. Whoever the previous owner was had loved it dearly. Lance almost felt as though he was intruding on something personal as he carefully opened it. Once again, Lance couldn't understand a word of it. It looked like French, which certainly made things harder. Still, he traced the letters delicately, eyes roaming over every last word.  
  
It appeared to be a diary of sorts, judging by the layout. The pages were crinkled, tinted yellow, but it had clearly been treated with care. He gently looked through each page, examining each curve of the elegant handwriting. His brows furrowed as he got further along. Whilst he couldn't speak French, the language shared enough similarities with Spanish to allow him to make out some of the words. From what he had gathered, it was a diary of a noble girl, possibly even a princess. It spoke of her day to day life. Lance thought it was fascinating. The detail that had gone into the book was astounding. Simply through reading the words, he could imagine himself in her place, standing in an extravagant ballroom filled with the swaying of ballgowns and the clanking of glasses. But, as he approached the end of the diary, it stopped. The words were scruffily written, seeming almost frantic. There was no sign-off - it ended in the middle of the paragraph. The ink had leaked in certain places, damp marks that had since dried that Lance could only assume were tears.  
  
He let out a quiet sigh. It didn't say what had happened to the girl, and he wasn't sure he'd ever find out. Gently closing the book, he stared at the cover for a while before setting it back down to where it had previously been. Apparently, someone else was also researching into the diary, judging by the pile. Lance realised with a start that the room was much darker than it had been before. Glancing out of the window, he could make out the moon slowly rising over the silhouette of houses. He quickly unlocked his phone, eyes widening when he saw the time. It had just turned seven, but he had left the others at around two. As much as he wished he could stay, he knew it was time to head home. Casting a longing glance over his shoulder, he swiftly navigated through the aisles from memory till he reached the spiral staircase. It was a mystery for another day.

* * *

So, bright and early the next day, Lance set off back to the library. He had notified the others that he'd be gone for the day before leaving. Quickly arriving at the library, he trekked his way up to where the staircase had been. The library was noticeably more empty now. It was too early for students to be there, and only held a handful of older people reading quietly They didn't seem to notice him as he glided through.  
  
Lance let out a sigh of relief when he found it again. Deep down he'd been scared that he had somehow dreamt it all. Grinning to himself, he made his way up the stairs again, almost running at times through his excitement. Again, as he reached the top, the atmosphere changed completely. The faint smell of ash was back. Smiling contently, he walked through the aisles and aisles of books. He couldn't quite remember how to get back to the room, but it didn't matter. He had hours before he needed to be back. Strolling slowly through, he admired the hundreds of books that were all within arm's length. So many stories and so much knowledge, and yet he couldn't possibly hope to read them all.  
  
The thoughts quickly vanished, though, as he saw the room up ahead. Darting off towards it, he breathlessly smiled, gazing towards the window. This time the weather wasn't as nice. Whereas the day before had been bright and golden, today was grey and rainy. Lance didn't mind, though, he thought the sound of the rain splattering against the roof was relaxing. He had already briefly explored the main area yesterday, so he decided to look around the rest of the room in more detail.  
  
Today, the fireplace was ablaze, flickering with life. There was an iron grate around it, which contained the sparking hues of reds and oranges. Lance loved the warmth that came from it. It reminded him somewhat of his home in Cuba; of the warm family meals and the cosy feeling of being surrounded by loved ones. Though, instead of making him feel homesick as it usually would, it made a burst of warmth spread through his chest.  
  
Making his way to the other side of the room, he dragged his fingers along the clean, white walls. He paused by the desk, examining it. As he had seen the other day, there was a stack of parchment paper to one side. Beside it, stood a quill that was leaning against the side of a pot of ink. A small pool of the black liquid surrounded the base of the pot, still relatively wet. The raised shelves at the back of the desk contained a handful of more quills, along with a book or two. Lance made a mental note to check them out later.  
  
He continued his journey around the room, pausing when he reached the piano. Looking at it properly, he realised how expensive it looked. It was made from an auburn coloured wood, with a polished finish. The sides were intricately carved, with swirls and flowers. Lance gently ran his hands over the engraved pictures. Bringing his hands back, he pushed himself carefully onto the stool at the foot of the piano. Similarly to the instrument, it was made from smooth, auburn wood, with plush, cherry coloured fabric to make it more comfortable. He didn't know how to play it, and yet found himself inexplicably drawn to it. Lance's fingers hovered above the keys, slowly laying to rest them before quickly pulling back. The piano was in no way dusty, and he didn't like the implications of that. Still, surely it couldn't hurt to play just a little. Lowering a finger, a clear note resonated throughout the room.  
  
"I'm not sure you're supposed to be up here yet."  
Lance let out a squeak, before jumping away from the piano. Blushing furiously, he glanced up at where the voice had come from. A boy, around his age or a couple of years older, was leaning lazily against the wall, arms folded. There was a strange sense of familiarity about him. He stared at Lance with piercing, violet eyes, an affectionate smile gracing his face. For a moment, time seemed frozen. Lance held back the urge to run up to the stranger. He wanted to run his hands through the boy's unkempt hair and brush it out of his eyes, if only to be able to stare into them for a moment.  
  
Before he could fully process what was happening, the stranger walked up to Lance with a few long strides. He gently reached upwards and cupped Lance's face, tenderly stroking his cheek with his thumb. As startled as he was, Lance couldn't help but lean into the touch.  
The boy hummed, "I've missed you, love." He laughed softly at the puzzled look on Lance's face. His eyes flickered to the piano, before raising an eyebrow playfully. "Come," he gestured towards the piano, before sliding onto the stool. Watching Lance expectantly, he patted the area next to him before Lance eventually sat down beside him.  
  
Despite being certain he had never met this boy before, Lance couldn't help but feel entranced by him. The regal way he seemed to carry himself would usually be intimidating, and yet instead it drew Lance in more and more. Every movement the boy did was graceful, from the familiar way he laid his fingers to rest above the keys, to the way his eyelashes fluttered whenever he looked up at him. Lance gulped nervously.  
  
The boy gently placed his hands over Lance's and guided them towards the keys. Pushing them down, clear notes rang out. He removed his hands and played a simple tune, gesturing for Lance to copy. As he did so, the boy smiled at him gently.  
"Good, now keep repeating that."  
Lance nodded and began playing. The older boy joined in with the melody, fingers gliding effortlessly across the piano. The music resonated through the room, filling it with a sweet melody. Lance nearly stopped playing, taken away by the loving way in which the boy played. The song was clearly dear to him. A soft smile graced his lips as he closed his eyes.  
  
Several minutes passed before the song came to an end. The room felt strangely empty without the melody filling it. The boy beside his slowly fluttered his eyes open, turning to look at Lance.  
"Mariage D'amour, by Paul de Senneville." He had said it with a seemingly French accent.  
"You speak French?"  
"I had to learn it to understand." He replied, gesturing towards the books on the table.  
The boy pushed himself up from the stool and gently picked up one of Lance's hands, pulling him towards the nearest sofa. Taking a seat, he gestured for Lance to do the same, before picking up the top book that Lance had looked at the day before.  
"It's the diary of a princess, though you already know that."  
Lance tilted his head slightly, but the boy continued on.  
"I had been trying to find out what had happened to her, much like you are right now."  
"Does that mean you know what happened?"  
The boy hummed softly, "I don't find out for a while, in about a year or two from now."  
At this, Lance narrowed his eyes, "What does-"  
He was cut off as the boy delicately clasped their hands together. A slight blush covered the other's face as he stared lovingly down at their interlocked fingers. They stayed like that for a moment, relishing in the quiet of the room and the faint sounds of rain. The boy's face fell a little as he looked back up at Lance.  
"You're not supposed to be here yet. We're not supposed to meet; it's too early."  
"What? What does that mean?"  
"I'm sorry Lance," the boy placed a soft kiss against his forehead, before pulling away. "Till we meet again."

The boy stood up, giving Lance one final smile. He turned around and swiftly began to leave the room.  
"Wait!" Lance yelled out, "I didn't even get your name," But it was too late, the mysterious boy was gone. Snapped out of his trance, Lance quickly stood up, following after where he had once been. He ran through aisle after aisle, desperate to find him again, but it was useless. It was as though he had vanished, the only proof of his existence was the dent left in the sofa.  
  
He sighed and sat back down on the sofa. Resting his head against his palm, he stared longingly at where they had sat together before. Lance couldn't explain it, the sense of desperation to know more about the boy even though they had barely met. The more he sat there, the more it felt like a distant memory, like a fleeting dream. Close by, yet just out of reach.  
  
Closing his eyes, he leaned back into the sofa and promptly drifted off.

* * *

  
  
When he awoke, he found himself back in his dormitory. Groggily pushing himself up, he noticed he was wearing the same clothes as before. This seemed to snap him awake as the memories of earlier came flooding back to him. He swiftly threw off the covers and made his way into the kitchen. Pidge was sitting on the couch, tapping away on their laptop whilst Hunk baked something in the oven that smelt heavenly. The boy in the kitchen turned around, noticing Lance standing there.  
"Oh! Lance, you're up." With a thoughtful hum, he turned back to check on the baking goods.  
"What happened? How did I get back here? "  
"Oh, one of your friends found you asleep at the library and brought you back."  
Pidge glanced up from their laptop, "I didn't recognise him, honestly. "  
Lance's head snapped up at this, "What did he look like? "He demanded.  
"Hm, he was pale, had black hair and freakishly purple eyes. He left a couple of minutes ago."  
Drawing in a shaky breath, Lance ran back to his room and up to the window. Pulling apart the curtains, his eyes raked across the street below. It was hard to see with the rain and the umbrellas, but in the corner, about to leave the street, stood the boy. As if he had noticed him, the boy turned around looked directly at Lance. The soft smile came back as they held eye contact for a moment before he put a pale finger against his lips and winked. Pulling the finger away, he grinned and turned around, disappearing around the corner once again.

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing this ngl. I just got so into it. Honestly, I've got more ideas based on this idea now but I'm not sure if I should continue it or not. Is a two-shot a thing? A three-shot? How many shots till it just becomes a normal fanfic? I've got ideas on where to take this, but who knows? Let me know what you think, and comment if you want me to continue this :) I love reading your comments, they make me so happy. ^.^
> 
> This is the song they play together: [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoCG-WNsZio)


End file.
